Arianna Stone made an excuse to slip away from the ballroom and headed toward the elevator lobby.

As the elevator rose, her heart hammered against her ribs.

With a soft ding, the doors slid open. There stood Maxwell King, waiting.

He was dressed in a bespoke suit that hugged his long, lean frame perfectly. The tailored fabric accentuated his broad shoulders and narrow waist, cutting an imposing, statuesque figure. He stood with his hands tucked casually into his pockets, eyes cool and distant, radiating the quiet confidence of a man who owned the room.

When he heard her approach, his gaze shifted. The frost in his dark eyes melted in an instant, replaced by a lazy, boyish glint. "Arianna."

"Maxwell," she murmured.

He took her hand, leading her toward the room. The penthouse suite was obscenely lavish, decorated in a sharp, modern business style. Thick, plush carpeting swallowed the sound of their footsteps, while floor-to-ceiling windows offered a panoramic view of the sparkling city skyline and the towering skyscrapers across the river.

Arianna stared, the question slipping out before she could stop it. "Do you book this place often?"

"What are you thinking?"

Maxwell reached out to ruffle her hair, but seeing her perfectly styled updo, he pulled back with a chuckle. "Why would I keep a long-term booking here? Mrs. King doesn't live in a hotel."

He stepped closer, his voice dropping an octave. "Cole told me you were coming, so I had him book this for us this morning."

Arianna blinked in surprise. "How did you know I was going to be here?" She had been planning to surprise him.

"I checked the guest list ahead of time," he replied matter-of-factly.

Arianna let out a small, deflated "Oh." Well, so much for her surprise.

Maxwell checked his watch. "The meeting doesn't start for another half-hour. Want to rest here for a bit?"

"Okay."

It had been ten hours since last night, yet Arianna still found it hard to meet his eyes. Her brain seemed to have a mind of its own—every time she looked at him, flashes of the previous night’s intensity crowded her thoughts.

Maxwell, however, seemed entirely at ease. He opened the refrigerator and turned to her. "What would you like to drink, Arianna?"

"Just some water."

His hand paused over a bottle of orange juice. He pulled it back, grabbed a bottle of spring water, and handed it to her instead.

"Why the change of heart?" she asked, surprised.

"Nancy mentioned that you’d be doing a lot of talking today," he noted smoothly. "She said orange juice can be a bit syrupy—might be inconvenient."

Maxwell let out a light laugh. "True. I’d forgotten about that."

The air grew thick with a subtle, charged silence. Arianna twisted off the cap and took a long sip to cool the sudden heat rising in her throat. She sank into the sofa by the window, studiously focusing on the scenery, the hotel decor, or even the label on her water bottle—anywhere, really, but at him.

Maxwell sighed, a hint of amusement in his tone. He pulled her into his arms, resting his chin on her shoulder. "Arianna, you don't have to be shy."

He spoke with an intensity that made her ears burn. "It was my first time, too. You’ll get used to it eventually."

*Get… used to it?*

*Get used to what?*

Arianna buried her face in his chest, wishing she could hide there forever. But her pride wouldn't allow her to admit defeat. "I’m not shy," she muttered, her voice muffled but firm. "Why would I be?"

Maxwell let out a low, rumbling laugh. He didn't call her bluff, simply patting her back gently. "Right. No shyness here."

She could feel the vibration of his laughter against her cheek. She pulled back to glare at him with wide, dark eyes. "What are you laughing at?"

Maxwell tried to pull his expression into a neutral mask, but he failed.

Arianna narrowed her eyes. "You don't believe me, do you? I told you, I’m not shy. Stop laughing."

"Alright, alright. I've stopped."

Even as he said it, his lips were still tugged upward, his narrow eyes brimming with a warmth that completely enveloped her.

After a few seconds of staring, Arianna reached out, took his jaw in her hands, and physically pushed the corners of his mouth down until his lips were set in a flat, serious line. "There. Keep it like that. No more laughing."

Maxwell nodded, suppressing a smirk. "Understood."

But the moment she let go, his lips drifted back into that gentle curve.

Arianna stared at his mouth for a moment, then, driven by an impulse she couldn't name, she leaned in and pressed a quick, soft kiss to his lips.

Maxwell froze.

She pulled back immediately, her eyes sparkling. She pointed to her own lips. "No more kissing. What if it smudges my lipstick?"

Maxwell realized he’d been played. Nose-to-nose, their breaths mingled. He sighed, pulling her closer and wrapping his arms tightly around her. "Mrs. King, you really are something else."

"You started it," she retorted. "Laughing at me, talking about… getting used to things."

"I was being sincere."

"Nobody says things like that sincerely!"

Arianna mimicked his tone. "Well, I was being sincere, too."

Maxwell was momentarily silenced.

The conversation drifted back to the memory of the night before. Sensing the shift, Arianna clamped her mouth shut.

After a moment, Maxwell reached out to tuck a stray lock of hair behind her ear. His voice dropped to a whisper. "Are you sore?"

"Hmm?" Arianna, still clinging to his neck, didn't quite catch him. "What did you say?"

"Last night. Are you in pain?"

Arianna went dead silent.

Maxwell chuckled. "Why aren't you saying anything?"

"..."

"I thought you weren't shy?"

Arianna gritted her teeth. "I'm not." She lowered her voice, struggling to keep it steady. "I'm fine. It's not sore."

She expected the topic to die there. Instead, Maxwell reached into his pocket and pulled out a small tube of ointment. "If you are, use this. I checked with a specialist—it’s safe and effective."

"Or, if you’d like, I could—"

Anticipating what he was about to say, Arianna slammed a hand over his mouth, her eyelashes fluttering wildly. "That’s enough! I know."

She snatched the tube from his hand, her fingers trembling. "When did you even buy this?"

"I had it prepared beforehand," he said softly. "You left so early this morning, I didn't get a chance to give it to you."

Arianna gave a frantic, noncommittal hum. She unzipped her purse and shoved the ointment inside, as if it were burning her palms. Just as she moved to zip it shut, Maxwell suddenly reached out and caught her wrist, his eyes locked on something inside her bag.

"Arianna," he asked, his voice cooling slightly, "what is that?"

Arianna looked down.

A corner of a different lipstick case was peeking out from the side of her purse.

"..."